


In Your Eyes

by rubygirl29



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, M/M, One Shot, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, artistic inspirationn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:22:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4709213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little fill-in for <i>I Didn't Know I Was Lonely Until We Met</i>. Steve lost everything in the fire that destroyed Bucky's apartment, even the portrait he had done that Bucky treasured. He's decided to paint a new one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Because I won't be able to post the next chapter until after Fan Expo, here's a little one-shot to fill in the gap.

Steve stands in front of a blank canvas. This has always been his greatest fear; that he will not know what to paint, what to do with the pencil in his hand. He closes his eyes. There is a soft rustle of clothing behind him and Bucky's cool lips press against his nape. 

"Waiting for inspiration?" 

His voice is soft and warm against Steve's skin and he turns to Bucky. "Maybe." He nestles into Bucky's chest. "You smell like the cold air."

Bucky smiles. "I went to Natasha's. I had to get out of here for a few hours. Everybody misses you." He holds out a paper bag. "I brought you a _vatrushka._ "

Steve opens the bag and inhales the sweet aroma. "I remember that you rescued me from starvation with one of these." He sets it aside. "I didn't know how I would repay you." 

"You saved me," Bucky said softly. He kisses Steve, and even though they could take this to the next level, he doesn't. "I'm interrupting your work. I'll just sit and keep you company, if you don't mind?"

Steve shakes his head. "No. I'm just waiting for the muse."

Bucky laughs. "Sure." He settles on the couch and picks up the book he had been reading the night before. The light coming through the windows is pale, and sitting there, in that cold light, Bucky looks like winter. His hair is escaping from his messy bun in tendrils around his cheeks. His stump is hidden, and he's still wearing his old army jacket that he had saved from the fire. 

Steve starts sketching, his hands moving almost of their own volition. In less than an hour, his sketch is complete. He looks up, and the light is brighter, warmer. It touches Bucky's features; his high cheekbones, straight nose, lush lips. It tips his long lashes with rose-gold. Steve closes his eyes, memorizing the colors in his artist's mind. He continues sketching until he loses the light. When he looks over at Bucky, he's curled up on the couch, sleeping. 

Steve brews two cups of tea and cuts the _vatrushka_ in half. He carries it into the living area and settles on the couch. Bucky opens blue, sleep-dazed eyes. He smiles and stretches like a big, warm cat. "What happened to the muse?"

"Fell asleep." Steve kisses Bucky. "But I have a good start, I think."

"You're not sure?"

Steve bites his lip. He's not ready to tell Bucky that the painting is of him. There's too much emotion invested in it on his part. "It's too early to tell. I'm hungry. Are you hungry?" Steve covers the canvas and wanders over to the kitchen.

Bucky follows him and they choose a rotisserie chicken to warm up with mashed potatoes and gravy. It's one meal Bucky can eat at any time and never seems to tire of. While they wait, Bucky opens two beers and they lean against the counter, drinking beer, pausing to kiss, talking about not much -- Natasha, Jane and Thor, and Darcy's new possible boyfriend, Wade. 

Bucky shakes his head. "Man, I don't know. That guy's got the worst sense of humor. Talk about acerbic wit. His could scour the ovens clean."

Steve laughs. "You should be a writer."

Bucky looks at him oddly. "What?"

"I just think you could write something interesting that people would want to read. Essays, short stories, even a novel. I'd read it."

"You'd read _Fifty Shades of Grey_ if I said I wrote it," Bucky snorts. 

"You know I've got some standards," Steve argues as Bucky loops his arm around Steve's waist and pulls him close.

"Yeah?" Bucky nuzzles his neck and Steve tries to twist away, because Bucky's eyelashes are tickling him as they flutter against his thin, sensitive skin. "You ain't gettin' away so easy." He reaches over the the stove and hits the "hold" button before he muscles an unresisting Steve to the bedroom. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

They eat later, wrapped in thick terry robes, watching an old movie _You're Not So Tough_ with the Dead End Kids … for some reason Bucky is fascinated by old movies set in New York. Steve likes the black and white photography, so he doesn't object. By the time the movie is over, Bucky is drooping against Steve's shoulder. 

"Buck, you should go to bed."

Bucky opens one sleepy blue eye. "You coming with?"

"I'm not as tired as you are. Go … I think I'll work a little bit."

Bucky kisses him. "Okay. Don't stay up too late. You've got a big day coming up."

Steve groaned. "Don't remind me!"

Bucky runs a finger across his lips. "You'll be great. But you're right. Bed sounds like a good idea -- this time, to sleep."

"I won't be too long."

Bucky leaves and Steve takes the cover off the canvas. He picks up a pencil and draws quickly. He plans his palette of colors and decides to start on the first layer. 

He loses all sense of time passing and it isn't until he sees that the sky is showing faintly gray that he puts his brush away and stands back, looking at his work. He decides to call the painting _The Winter Soldier_. It's Bucky, sitting on a high peak in Afghanistan. The predominant colors are the black and pale blue of moonlight. Bucky's skin is silver, just touched with color on his cheekbones and jawline as he watches the sun rise. There is a faint hint of gold on the tips or his eyelashes, a faint glimmer on his dog tags. His rifle, resting on his knees is a dull steel blue, but the sun had edged the muzzle with red. Somehow, he knows the picture has captured the truth of not only Bucky, but every soldier. The courage, the loneliness, the dedication, the hard reality of war. 

He thinks it's the best work he's ever done. He's exhausted now. As soon as he puts his paints in order, he crawls into bed and curls into Bucky's warmth. Bucky pulls him closer and sighs, sliding back into sleep without even being aware that he was no longer alone. Steve can't keep his eyes open. He stops fighting and falls asleep to the rhythm of Bucky's heart beating against his back. 

The End


End file.
